


post-it note mementos and definitions

by pyrality



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1853206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrality/pseuds/pyrality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>(Maybe, in one world, Iwaizumi Hajime never meets Oikawa Tooru.)<br/>(It is a world Iwaizumi cannot imagine.)</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	post-it note mementos and definitions

(Maybe, in one world, Iwaizumi Hajime never meets Oikawa Tooru.)  
  
Oikawa presses his lips gently over his bruised knuckles, breath warm and shaky over his tender skin stretched over sharp bone, and Iwaizumi closes his eyes, lips barely trembling when they kiss. The pressure of Oikawa’s lips on his own is solid, familiar, and comforting amidst gasped breaths of intimacy, amidst the feeling of Oikawa’s calloused fingers smoothing along the strip of skin exposed from his hitched up t-shirt.  
  
(It is a world Iwaizumi cannot imagine.)  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
"It's late," Iwaizumi manages with a long yawn, jaw aching when he finally closes his mouth. His tired eyes flicker over to the bright numbers of his nightstand clock, blearily making out the time displayed to be 2:03 AM. He adjusts his grip on his cellphone and curls beneath his blankets, pressing his fingers into the mattress and cracking his knuckles against the sheets. The sound is loud in the quiet hours of early morning, deafening over the muffled sounds of his breathing against his pillow. After a few moments of silence, he finally asks, voice barely a murmur, "Don't you have an exam tomorrow? Get some sleep."  
  
"Tuck me in and tell me a bedtime story," Oikawa replies from the other end, soft, hushed, fond, and Iwaizumi can barely make out the sound of the other boy shifting in his bed. Oikawa sounds close and he can almost  _feel_  the prickling warmth of the brunet's breath against his ear instead of the cold surface of his phone screen.  
  
( _Distance: an amount of space between two things or two people_.)  
  
“Go to bed,” Iwaizumi says, closing his eyes, rubbing a knuckle into his eyelid. He swallows, turns over in bed, jaw aching when he clenches his teeth and buries his face into his pillow. He’s upset that Oikawa is miles and miles away, feels angry that he misses the way Oikawa curls into his side when they lie in bed together, feels angry that he can close his eyes and perfectly recall the feeling of Oikawa’s hand over his heart, kissing at his lips and murmuring “Hajime” like it was the only word that mattered--  
  
"You're really no fun at all," Oikawa whines, petulant, pitching his voice in a way he knows gets under Iwaizumi's skin. He shifts against the sheets on his end again and hums, thoughtful and sleepy. "Iwa-chan, you should spoil me every now and then--"  
  
( _Separation: the state of being apart._ )  
  
"Good night, Oikawa," Iwaizumi says, cutting him off, fingers tightening around his phone and in his pillow. He keeps his eyes closed and his breath even when he continues, "Sleep well," he hesitates for a moment, teeth burying into his lip, "Miss you," he admits, slurred out in a hurry and he ends the call before Oikawa can reply. He flicks his phone on silent, tossing it onto the bedside table, and buries his burning face into the pillow and falls asleep before he can wonder how many missed calls or texts he'll find from Oikawa in the morning.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
"You keep glancing at your phone," his roommate, a certain sly cat-eyed old rival, points out from across the table. Kuroo spins his highlighter with agile fingers, humming as he fixes Iwaizumi with an amused look. "Shouldn't you get back to whoever it is?"  
  
Iwaizumi pointedly avoids Kuroo's knowing gaze, staring down at his textbook, pen poised on his notebook. Admittedly, he can't focus. He glimpsed at his phone and saw notifications after he woke up but clicked the screen off before he could read any of Oikawa's emoticon-riddled texts. He kept his phone on silent, left it on the table face down to study with the unruly-haired boy for their exam tomorrow, but he's itching under his skin to hear Oikawa's voice--  
  
(“Don’t go where I can’t follow,” Oikawa had said the night before he left—)  
  
"It's not important," he says, shaking his head and scrawling down a bullet point from what he's highlighted in his textbook, feeling unnerved by Kuroo's sly eyes and mischievous smile. Iwaizumi feels warm beneath his clothes and he hooks a finger into the collar of his shirt to fan himself, the gust of air against his skin managing to sooth some of the prickling heat beneath his skin. He thinks, briefly, of Oikawa’s fingers, the way the brunet sweeps the pads of his calloused fingers over his collarbones when he kisses him, and swallows thickly in his throat, "He can wait."  
  
"It's Oikawa, right?" the other boy prompts, raising an eyebrow, brow pinching slightly in a frown. He clicks his tongue and folds his arms, resting them over his notebook as he leans forward. Kuroo’s voice falls to a softer tone when he asks, "Did you two have a fight?"  
  
"No," Iwaizumi taps the fingers of his free hand along the edge of the table and shakes his head, feeling his cheeks heat up as he looks down into his lap. He chews into his lips when he murmurs, "Not at all."  
  
"Ah," Kuroo props an elbow onto the table and leans his cheek into his hand with a wide, Cheshire Cat grin, "You miiiissssss him, don't you?" he drawls out teasingly, practically purring when he picks his pink highlighter up off the table and reaches over to doodle a heart on Iwaizumi's notes with it. "Cute. Young love really is incredible."  
  
Iwaizumi looks up to glare at him, scratching his black pen over the heart, unbearably warm beneath the skin of his cheeks. "Shut up," he snaps, turning his eyes back down to his textbook, "let's get back to studying.”  
  
(He does, though, miss him.)  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
(Their tarot card is that of The Lovers, an arcana reading that represents choice in relationships and a spiritual interpretation that represents codependence as an aspect of human growth.)  
  
First names are whispered in the privacy of the bedroom, in the intimacy of interlinked fingers and tangled limbs and breaths shared between sloppy, desperate kisses. The pillows and sheets are soft against heated, oversensitized skin; it’s always too hot here, when and where they are pressed flush to each other, barely able to find air to breathe, realizing they are unable to distinguish where they begin, end, and begin anew again.  
  
(They are storm and ocean, yin and yang: destructive and harmonic, intertwined in an intimate story of trust and choice.)  
  
"Hajime" is what Oikawa uses when he has shooting stars in his warm and stormy eyes, what he uses when he wants to promise forever.  
  
"Tooru" is what Iwaizumi uses when Oikawa is pliable beneath his fingers, what he uses when the creation of tsunamis are in the horizon beneath the ocean of his skin, what he whispers when he wishes for happiness.  
  
"Hajime" is what Oikawa yells out across the pavilion on the Tokyo University campus; it is what he shouts with a grin on his lips and warmth in his eyes as his feet start moving.  
  
"Tooru" is what Iwaizumi answers with, breathless, barely audible, when they meet halfway; it is what he murmurs into the crook of Oikawa's jaw and neck when he smiles and clamps his arms around the brunet.  
  
(They never go back to using last names.)  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
“You  _did_ miss him, didn’t you?” Kuroo asks, smiling smugly. He taps his fingers against his cheek, smile widening into a grin as he traces his finger along the rim of his beer can with his free hand.  
  
( _To miss someone: to notice or feel the absence of a person._ )  
  
Hajime rubs at his nose, slightly self-conscious, hopes that he can pass of the blush rising to his cheeks as being from the alcohol. Kuroo’s still grinning when he plucks another beer from the cooler by the couch’s feet and slides it over the coffee table. The brunet scrapes his nail along the chilled, damp can, thumbs the rim of the can and catches condensation that cools his warm skin. He brings the can up and presses it against the skin of his neck, avoiding Kuroo’s gaze, feels embarrassed when he hears the other snicker. But Tooru is a warm, solid weight against his side with his fluffy hair tickling along Hajime’s shoulder as he breathes in and out in the steady lull of deep sleep, familiar to him in ways that make his chest tight.  
  
( _Peace: a state of ease,_ _quiet, and tranquility._ )  
  
Hajime is smiling when he cracks the can open and brings it to his lips, “Shut up, Kuroo."  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
“Oh, is that your new roommate, Iwaizumi-kun? The one rooming with you and Kuroo-kun?” his classmate asks, her eyes flickering curiously over to Tooru who is sitting on Hajime’s other side. She hums, smiling and waving politely to the brunet.  
  
“Yeah,” Hajime says as the boy waggles his fingers in a wave, grinning. Tooru’s thigh is flush against his beneath the table, knee jostling against his as the brunet bounces his leg out of habit.  
  
( _Courage: the ability to do something that frightens one._ )  
  
He swallows past the knot in his throat and says next, “He’s my boyfriend.”  
  
“Oh!” she smiles, knocks her fist into Hajime’s shoulder lightly, grinning at Tooru, who’s blinking in surprise by his side, “Nice catch. He’s cute.”  
  
(Later, Tooru presses him up against the door to the now empty classroom, and breathes out “‘He’s my boyfriend', Hajime, you’re so—“ before he cuts himself off and kisses Hajime.)  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
“You know, you two, house rules still stand. You’re supposed to let me know beforehand if you’re gonna fuck,” Kuroo says, but he looks amused more than anything as he hovers by the couch’s arm, arms folded and eyebrow quirked at the scene before him. He smirks when the two of them blink up at him.  
  
Tooru’s braced over him on the couch, hand shoved up his shirt to press against his stomach, and Hajime’s knee is bent in between the brunet’s legs. It’s bad timing really, they actually weren’t up to anything—  
  
“We were just messing around— wrestling,” Hajime blurts out, hurriedly sitting up, hands scrabbling to grab at Tooru’s shoulders and push him back. Tooru pouts as he sits back on his haunches, rolling his eyes like an indignant child.  
  
“Suuuuure,” Kuroo drawls out, the slant of his grin wicked and mischievous. He waves a hand dismissively at them, turning to head further into their apartment. “I won’t bother you lovebirds; I’m just here to pick up my laptop.”  
  
Hajime feels his cheeks flush hot at the word "lovebirds" and breaks eye contact, looking away and squirming.  
  
“Honestly, you’re so  _easy_ , Iwaizumi,” Kuroo laughs as he disappears into his bedroom.  
  
Tooru chortles his agreement, slanting sly eyes at him and curving his mouth up into a smug grin.  
  
Hajime looks down to hide his own smile when he punches him in the shoulder.  
  
( _Happiness: the state of being happy_.)  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Hajime taps the fridge door close with his foot, humming absently to himself as he trails over to the stove and sets the egg carton down on the counter. He glances at the time display on the stove, notes it as 6:18 AM as he turns the heat up and adds oil to the pan. Hajime hums as he cracks open an egg and starts cooking, adjusting his apron with the other hand. Kuroo doesn’t have class until eight o’clock but he often likes to eat breakfast early and go study in the library before class. He’s not surprised the unruly-haired boy isn’t awake yet— he’s more surprised Tooru isn’t already up. The brunet is usually the earliest riser, up and about for morning jogs before showering and primping prior to class.  
  
Hajime feels his lips stretch in a small smile when he hears the soft padding of footsteps down the hall and a yawn that he’s woken up to for most of his life. He taps the ball of his foot against the linoleum flooring, curling his toes as he feels himself grin. He doesn’t turn around when he hears the footsteps stop behind him at the entrance to the kitchen.  
  
( _Domesticity: home or family life_.)  
  
“Awake, huh?” he asks, cracking another egg against the pan, "Go wake up Kuroo for me, would you?”  
  
Tooru makes a noncommittal noise behind him, still a little drowsy, a bit petulant, as the sound of his padded footsteps pick up again, louder as they approach Hajime. The dark-haired boy makes a soft noise in his throat when he feels Tooru press his forehead to the nape of his neck, nuzzling at his back and snuffling sleepily. Hajime can smell the soft scent of the shampoo Tooru uses from the fluffy, messy locks that tickle along the lobe of his ear. The brunet wraps his arms around Hajime's waist loosely and gives a chaste kiss at his skin along the collar of his sleep shirt. Tooru presses his fingers into his hips, breathes steady and warm against Hajime's neck, and Hajime wonders, briefly, if this is what it's like to be truly content with life.  
  
( _Contentment: the state of happiness derived from fulfillment of one's wishes_.)  
  
"Come back to bed," Tooru mumbles into his shirt, nuzzling his cheek over the dark-haired boy’s shoulder. He splays his fingers over Hajime's hipbones beneath the waistband of his sweats, stroking his cool thumbs over warm skin. "M'cold."  
  
Hajime can't help but huff in amusement, "Put on a sweatshirt, you overgrown baby."  
  
"That's mean, Hajime-chan," Tooru whines, headbutting his back lightly. "And they're all in the wash."  
  
"Grab one of mine."  
  
"Toooooo lazy.” The brunet insistently nuzzles against the nape of his neck, snuffling loudly and rapping his fingers against his sides. "Come back to bed, Hajime."  
  
Hajime rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother to reply, instead focusing on the eggs sizzling in the pan.  
  
Tooru makes an indignant noise into his skin and shifts to wrap his arms around his waist beneath his apron and press against his backside. “Mmm, Hajime-chan,” he singsongs after a few moments, breath heavy and warm against his ear. "I'm  _hungry_."  
  
“God, you are such a whiny baby,” Hajime sighs, even as he reaches up to ruffle the boy’s hair, feeling himself smile when Tooru makes a content noise and nuzzles up into his hand.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
(Kuroo doesn’t say anything about the burnt eggs, but he’s _grinning_.)  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
(Sometimes, they are like a rushed, illicit love affair in an unfamiliar hotel— frantic and desperate, searching for reason and logic in between linked fingers and gasped breaths.)  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Tooru’s hand is warm when Hajime takes it, slipping his fingers in between familiar spaces.  
  
(It's semantics, in a way, Hajime doesn't need to say a lot of things out loud but Tooru understands anyway.)  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
"Scared?” Tooru asks, a smirk audible in his voice.  
  
"No, shut up. I'm cold,” Hajime mutters indignantly into his shoulder, pressing his body flush against Tooru’s from behind. He wraps his arm around the brunet’s waist, curling impossibly closer to him. He nudges his knee between Tooru’s legs and presses his foot over the arch of the other boy's, curling toes against his cold skin as he nuzzles into the nape of Tooru’s neck, the fringe of his hair tickling over his nose and cheeks.  
  
"It's seventy degrees,” Tooru says pointedly, amused, clasping his hand over Hajime’s on his stomach, lacing their fingers as he wiggles his feet against the other’s. “Do you have another excuse?"  
  
" _Shut up_."  
  
Tooru laughs outright at his petulant tone and Hajime feels his cheeks flush warmly at the cheerful sound. The brunet squeezes his hand, humming, "If you don't like horror movies, why watch them?"  
  
Hajime doesn't answer, instead pressing his face firmer into Tooru’s shoulder.  
  
( _Familiarity: close acquaintance with something or someone._ )  
  
"Well, it's cute, really,” Tooru muses, chuckling as he turns around to face him. His smile and warm eyes are barely visible in the darkness of their bedroom, slivers of moonlight streaming into their room from the window. Impulsive, Hajime reaches up, curls his hand against his cheek and jaw and smoothes the pad of his thumb over his lower lip, tracing over the soft curve of his smile. Tooru kisses his thumb lightly, smile widening into a grin as he tucks his hand around to the small of his back. "Iwaizumi Hajime scared of ghosts. Does Kuroo know?"  
  
Hajime turns his face into the pillow to hide the heat rushing to his cheeks. "Shut up and go to sleep."  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
“Gross,” Hajime manages sluggishly when Kuroo leans his head against his shoulder.  
  
Tooru is asleep on his other shoulder, hand in Hajime’s own with their fingers interlinked, empty beer can nestled in the fingers of the other one between his thighs, breath raspy and uneven as his head rocks against the curve of his shoulder. Kuroo presses his nose against the sleeve of his shirt, smiling.  
  
“You’re so mean, Iwaizumi,” he laughs, voice throaty from the alcohol. He struggles to sit up and set his half-finished beer on the table, flopping back into the couch and bouncing his knee against Hajime’s thigh, restless but lethargic in his movements. Kuroo traces idle designs on his own bouncing thigh over his baggy shorts with clumsy fingers, falling silent as he rubs his cheek against Hajime’s shoulder. “You and him, you’re good, you know?” he says after a few long moments, “Really good for each other. It’s a perfect love story. Happy ever after.”  
  
(They are yin and yang, a perfect balance, achieved after years and years of just barely missing each other.)  
  
Hajime doesn’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed by Kuroo’s words. Instead, he swallows, reaches up with his free hand to rub at his sleepy, bleary eyes. He lowers his hand afterwards, putting it gently on Kuroo’s leg, stilling his restless movement. “Could say the same about you and Tsukishima and Bokuto,” he answers softly, squeezing the boy’s knee. “You really like them, don’t you?”  
  
“M’too smashed for this,” Kuroo huffs out in a breathless laugh, nestling closer against Hajime’s side, unruly black hair tickling along his neck. “Yeah,” he mumbles after a moment, seemingly embarrassed as he tucks his face into the folds of Hajime’s shirt sleeve, "They're not bad. They make me happy, I guess.”  
  
“You’re an idiot,” Hajime sighs, reaching up to ruffle the boy’s hair fondly. “Who’re you trying to fool? Get some sleep, stupid.”  
  
“Thanks,” Kuroo says quietly, breathing starting to even out. “You’re the best sometimes, Iwaizumi.”  
  
“Mmhmm."  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
“You know, I actually— I like your last name,” Hajime blurts out finally after rolling the words around senselessly in his mouth, under his tongue. He’s been thinking about it since Kuroo told them a few nights ago that he thought they were good— that he thought they could _work_. He fumbles with the coffee maker, setting it down onto the kitchen counter with an ungainly clatter of plastic against wood. He feels the rush of heat to his cheeks as he hangs his head and closes his eyes, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the edge of the counter. He sucks in a deep breath as he waits for the other boy to answer.  
  
“You haven’t used it since I moved here six months ago,” the brunet muses, sounding fond and amused, "But I bet it still sounds great when you moan it,” Tooru replies from the dining room without missing a beat. He glances over his shoulder just as Hajime gathers the courage to look up to meet his gaze. The brunet is grinning, but it falters and his brown eyes widen when he sees the flustered expression on his face. He opens his mouth, like he wants to say something before he closes it, and looks patiently at Hajime for him to continue.  
  
“Would you consider changing it,” Hajime says, and it falls flat, not even a question. He chews on his lips, looking down at the ground, his face and neck and ears hot with embarrassment, stomach twisting and tingling as butterflies spread their wings along his insides. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows thickly in the back of his throat, “Because I—“  
  
“Hajime,” Tooru gasps out in a breathless, incredulous laugh. There’s a long pause before he hears the dining room chair clatter as he assumes the brunet leans against it. His voice is strained and barely audible when he finally speaks again, “That’s not how to propose to someone, you idiot.”  
  
“Shut up,” Hajime manages, eyes still closed, fisting his hands tightly by his sides, knuckles pressing into the denim of his jeans. His heart is thudding loudly in his ears, like a drum in his chest against his ribcage. He flicks his tongue over his lips, wetting them nervously as he struggles to find the right words to say, “Wanted to say something because you said— that one time you said ‘forever only happens in fiction’ and I think—“  
  
“Yes,” Tooru breathes, and Hajime startles when he feels Tooru take his hand and squeeze it. He jolts up, snapping his head up and opening his eyes to look at the brunet. Tooru’s eyes are unbearably warm and affectionate, tears prickling along the rims of his brown eyes, outlining his eyelashes as he squints and sniffles, smiling like he can hardly contain it, “Yes, I do.”  
  
Hajime wraps his arms around him, tucked along his waist, against the small of his back, crushing the other boy to his body. He feels relieved at the sensation of the strong and fast beat of Tooru’s heart against his chest, the shuddering breath the brunet gasps into his neck as he hugs him back just as tight, fingers warm against the fabric of his shirt, nails scrabbling for purchase along the folds of his clothes. He buries his face into Tooru’s neck. “Stupid,” he says, muffled into his skin. “You don’t say that until you’re at the altar.”  
  
( _Forever: for all future time, for always._ ) 


End file.
